One of our IPSC group of Olde Fogies (known locally as "The Usual Suspects") who typically squad together at matches has been pursuing 'other interests' for the past several months, and consequently we have missed his company at matches.
Accordingly, Randomly Hittin' Witten decided to host a BBQ at his home on Sunday, May 29. He chose this day, I presume, because it fell during a 3-day weekend. It was only a coincidence of timing the the weekend was Memorial Day Weekend, and a further coincidence that most couples included at least one veteran. Still, we were glad to spend the day in the company of friends with similar backgrounds and experiences, and values, which may partially explain why we were originally drawn to each other and established fast friendships. Weekend BBQ gatherings are not unusual for this group, and over the years we have also discovered a common appreciation for the finest things in life ... not the least is a liking of Jamisons Irish Whiskey, since Randomly Hittin' and "The O'shea" share an Irish Heritage, and I pride my self on being one-quarter on my father's side.
(My paternal grandmother was born a Dildine, and while I have no idea what was the County of her origin, there's enough Irish here to appreciate all things Irish. Especially the whiskey, and especially while I can be assured that I'm not the only participant who will arrive at any BBQ with a green bottle in hand.)
In celebration of the partial Celtic origins of our group, Randomly arranged some entertainment. One of his neighbors was a member of an Irish Dance Troupe, and he asked if she could schedule a performance at the BBQ. Mary, a charming leprechaun of many years experience, was happy to oblige. The BBQ started at noon ... I was a half hour late.
The Irish Dance Troupe was scheduled for 2pm, after the end of the meal. They were a half hour late. The only reasonable conclusion to tardiness is that it is an Irish national trait. It's not my fault I'm always late. I find some comfort in that cultural abrogation of my inherently bad sense of time, and the fact that The O'Shea showed up on time fails to disuade me from my comfortable conclusion.
There were four members of the troup in attendance. There are about 20 members of the troupe, but everyone else had other things to do (including one selfish individual who reportedly was getting married and chose this weekend to go back to The Olde Sod to meet the family of his prospective wive.) However, they had a fifth person with them; "Bob" was from Dublin, and while we had no idea how he had come to join the troupe for this event, we were glad to see him.
Bob brought his wife. A married couple in the troupe brought their son Patric (all of the regular troupe members were wearing emerald green kilts), Mary brought two of her grand-daughters, and there were a couple of other people who were not clearly identified. No matter, we were glad to have them, plenty of food available but we only had two bottles of Jamisons, which we hid. You can't be too careful with fine whiskey around the Irish.
Oh, and one of them brought their dog ... a bob-tailed German Shepherd named Mariah. More on Mariah in a minute.
The troupe brought a Karaoke machine, and they set it up on the back porch. The porch would be their stage, and we the audience were arrayed around the porch were we could relax comfortably in our patio chairs while they performed.
Unfortunately, there were no chairs available for the troupe members while various of them performed, so they generally sat on the low brick retaining wall ... next to the fish pond.
One of the first acts was Bob from Dublin quoting a very sad poem by the great Irish poet, Keats. In the middle of the act, Mariah chased a ball into the fish pond. Mariah is a water dog, we learned, and she very much enjoyed thrashing around the pond. We watched while the idle troupe members solemnly sponged water and duck-weed off the emerald green kilt of the lone costumed regular member of the troupe and Bob from Dublin continued his morose poetry. Hearing a choking sound beside me, I turned to see Randomly cramming his hand into his mouth, up to the wrist, in a solemn and respectful effort to resist the nearly overwhelming impulse to laugh. Bravo to Randomly for his appreciation for the solemnity of the moment.
The troupe demonstrated Jigs, Reels, and various other dance routines. Unfortunately, there were only the four regular (costumed) troupe members, and Bob from Dublin, so they were forced to draft on-hand family members to fill out the tradition six-person routines. Usually, they called upon one of Mary's grand-daughters who was invariably cast as 'a man'. I understand that there are to be 3 women and 3 men in the dances, and she graciously accepted the role of 'a man'. There was some discussion of who was 'a man' and who was 'a woman'. Bob from Dublin asserted that he was pretty sure he was a man, and as nobody present was willing to challenge the assertion, he danced in that role during the entire performance.
Someone suggested that Mary sing. Mary's granddaughter objected vociferously, stating that "I've heard her sing since I was this big, and believe me you do NOT want to hear Grandmother sing!" Later, Mary presented a short explanation about why she wasn't allowed to sing. When she was in High School, she was in Choir. During one recital, her teacher approached her and said "Mary, if you'll just mouth the words without singing, I'll give you a 'C' for the year. Mary responded: "A 'C'? No deal. You'll give me an 'A' for the year, or I'm singin'!"
Lydia, the high-stepper of the group (and who apparently was an instructor of Irish dancing) played a piece on the tin whistle. I had never seen an actual 'tin whistle', and I was surprised at the range which she was able to find in the one-and-a-half octaves available.
Taking requests, the troupe attempted to sing "
Danny Boy". They couldn't remember the words, so after a minute they quit. Too bad; I thought they were doing just fine. I don't remember the words either, but if they had continued I was going to request "
Who Threw The Overalls In Mrs Murphy's Chowder", some of the words to which I DO know (if not the tune). I bet they knew the words too, but were too dignified to suggest it themselves.
As the last act of the performance, the troupe declared that they were going to teach the audience an Irish circle dance. Being the designated photographer (designated by myself), I remained behind. I have 2:44 minutes of film depicting my friends dancing an Irish Reel. It is for sale to the highest bidder, which I assume will be one of the friends I photographed.
The performance ended far too soon.
We still had some Jamison's left.
